


beautiful woman

by jonsarose



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark Sansa, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Jon is smart, Killing Eve AU, Love, Mutual Pining, Plot Twist, Sansa is bi, Slow Burn, Soul-Searching, cersei is sansa's mentor, minor original characters, rich jon, rich sansa, sansa is a little crazy, they live in london
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-19 03:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19348240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsarose/pseuds/jonsarose
Summary: Since Jon's wife's death, Jon has been working the bare minimum at MI6. When a Prime Minister is ruthlessly assassinated, Jon puts the pieces together to find the culprit. Sansa, a Russian assassin, speaks 10 languages and has dedicated her life to killing powerful people and bathing in her riches. When they find each other, they both find out who they really are.





	1. Jon I

**Author's Note:**

> this story is inspired by killing eve. all the characters are either original or characters from game of thrones/a song of ice and fire. though inspired, the storylines will not be identical but will share similarities. hope you enjoy and please leave comments/suggestions x

His skin was on fire. Jon’s burnt skin traveled down his shoulders and backside. Should’ve worn sunscreen, he thought to himself, grinning. Jon got back home from his business trip to Nice last night, which did include a few meetings with politicians regarding a recent assassination, but he spent most of his weekend on a yacht. Models in the area shared the weekend with him, resting under the sun and swimming in the sea. Jon’s head ached, probably due to all of the champagne he consumed. One of the models insisted Jon drink an entire bottle of French champagne after he lost a game of poker he and the women played. The woman’s skin was tan and glowed under the sun. Her hair was red, her cheeks were pink and her lips full. Jon fucked her that night and couldn’t remember her name this morning. Jon smoothed gel through his dark, curled hair and ran the blow dryer through it, sopping wet from his morning shower. He dresses in a navy suit, red tie, and black oxfords with red bottoms. “  
“Mr. Snow. Would you like some tea this morning?” Olly asks. Olly was a slim boy, only nineteen, with short brown hair and dressed in his butler attire.  
“Please and make it quick. I leave in five.” Jon replied.  
“Of course,” Olly replies and dips out of the door.  
He reappears while Jon adjusts his tie. Olly places a silver platter on his nightstand with a teapot full of black English tea, lumps of sugar in a porcelain bowl, and a pot of milk. Jon thanks him and chugs the tea quickly. He grabs his leather bag and finds his way to the door of his flat.  
“Olly!” He shouts, the door ajar. “You can have an early night. I’ll pick up dinner for myself.”  
He gets into his black Range Rover parked outside his flat and starts the engine. Jon rubs his head and silently prays his coworkers don’t give him too much flack for his weekend activities.

Jon sat in his office and typed at the laptop on his desk. Jeor Mormont, his boss, walked into his office and sits on a chair facing him.  
“Please, come in, have a seat,” Jon says sarcastically.  
Jeor grins and rolls his eyes. “I don’t need your sarcasm. It’s fucking early.” Jeor takes a swig out of his flask and Jon judges him. “How was the trip?” Jeor asks him.  
“Uneventful. The President only sent his defense minister and some light security. They had little to say on the subject.” Jon remarks.  
Jeor sighs, “It may be that the President is too busy in mourning. However, there have been updates on the case. The Prime Minister had his twin daughters at home during the time of his assassination and they might have some insight into who killed their parents.” Jeor says, almost joking. “The only problem is they’re 10 years old and you know how much I despise children.”  
Jon squints and asks, “What are you suggesting?”  
Jeor stares at him with his grey, beady eyes and says, “I think it’s time you put some real work in. I hired you for a reason, Jon. You’re an Oxford graduate, ambitious, and most importantly, you’re good at boring the shit out of people and getting information out of them. I’m sending you to Budapest, you leave tomorrow morning.”  
Jon fidgets uncomfortably, his heart already beating out of his chest. “Mr. Mormont, with all due respect, I haven’t been out in the field since my wife passed. Meetings are one thing, but you must understand how uncomfortable this might make me.” Jon tried to sound diplomatic, but it wasn’t coming out right.  
Jeor replied, “And you’ve been sulking in this office for almost two years now. I don’t pay you to sulk, I pay you to find murderous fucks, not sit and pretend to work, for Christ’s sake. You leave tonight. That’s final.”  
Jon sighed, “Am I going alone?”  
Jeor then opened his suit jacket and retrieved a small folder from one of the pockets. “You’ll be going with Samwell. He works in the Central European department and knows crucial details on the Prime Minister’s personal life. And frankly, it’s a way to get him out of the office. His extraneous facts are annoying the shit out of me.”  
Jon didn’t see Sam much, as they worked in different departments, but he did see him at the Christmas party last winter. Sam mastered trivia that night and after Jon drank too much, as per usual, Sam drove him home. That morning he found himself tucked into bed, barely remembering a thing.  
Jeor continued, “You’ll be staying at a hotel a couple of blocks away from the Prime Minister’s flat. You won’t be given security and MI6 have planned a meeting with the daughters at noon on Wednesday. Perhaps they’ll treat you to some tea.” Jeor grinned and handed Jon the folder.  
“No security?” Jon checked.  
“You won’t be needing any,” Jeor said. “You’re to meet with the girls and get on the next flight back. Details are in the folder.”  
Jeor took another swig of whatever was in his flask and left the office. Inside the folder were crime scene pictures and sheets of paper including possible witnesses. In the photograph, a tall, elderly man laid in a puddle of his own sick with a glass in his hand. His skin was purple, and blood dripped down his eyes and nose. His wife looked the same, except her glass, of what appeared to be red wine, was cracked on the stone ground. The sheets explained that they were having lunch in an exclusive restaurant when the event occurred with dozens of security present. Jon winced at the photographs and felt pity for the orphans he was scheduled to meet in a few days’ time.

Jon met Sam at Heathrow the next morning. Jon sat waiting at the gate for Budapest and drinking coffee out of a paper cup. Sam’s face was elated when he caught sight of Jon. He was dressed like a tourist—a Hawaiian shirt, jean shorts, slides, and a bucket hat with what appeared to have marijuana leaves on it.  
“Good morning,” Sam says smiling. “I’m dressed like a regular tourist. Like my hat? My son lent it to me.”  
Jon smiled at him, “You’ll fit right in.” Jon looked completely opposite of Sam; He wore black jeans, a black sweater vest, and his regular oxfords.  
Sam sat next to Jon and asks, “Did you ever meet him?” Jon was puzzled, “Who?” Sam got closer and whispered, “The Prime Minister.”  
Jon responds, “Oh, no. I’ve been doing strictly paperwork for a couple of years.” Sam looked curious, “Oh. Your father was a…a…man of our profession, wasn’t he?”  
Jon signed; They weren’t to talk of such things in public atmospheres. He answered anyway, “Yes. He died about a decade ago. On the job.” Jon pretended to use his phone to avoid further conversation.  
“Your dad was a legend. He’s a celebrity in the world of MI6. I wish the world could know what he did to save his country.” Sam could tell Jon didn’t want to speak on the topic anymore and simply dropped it. “Well, I’m quite excited. Maybe I can fit a trip to a museum in while we’re there.” Jon didn’t think it wise to speak of the trip due to the people who sat around them also waiting for the flight.  
“Me too.” Jon lied.

By the time they landed in Budapest, Jon was exhausted and told Sam he didn’t want to go out that night. He slept for hours in his hotel and dreamed of a woman with red hair. He couldn’t remember her face; Just a dark shadow with alert blue eyes.  
Sam woke him in the middle of the day and said, “We should probably prepare for tomorrow. I have some information to disclose.” Jon pulled the sheets off and sat on a loveseat in the corner of the room.  
Sam gently smiled, “Right. So, the morgue has released the cause of death. Poison obviously and it’s named Belladonna, Italian for beautiful woman, commonly known as nightshade. It comes in the form of a plant, with green leaves and black colored berries. It’s also a legal substance in most parts of the world, but difficult to find in your everyday shop. If it’s ingested in large doses, it’s extremely lethal.” Jon had difficulty keeping his attention, as he felt groggy. Sam uncomfortably grabbed the crime scenes photographs and continued, “The poison was in their glasses. The Prime Minister was having an old fashioned, and his wife,” he held up the other photograph, “Red wine. They found traces of the poison in the drinks, but not in the food.”  
Jon then asked, “Have the restaurant staff been in for questioning?”  
Sam replied, “The security arrested them. Even their dishwashers. Anything else has yet to be revealed.”  
Jon sat up in his seat and poured a glass of water, “It might be a staff conspiracy, but I doubt it. The bartender is the culprit here. And once we get him, we’ll find out who he is working for. I highly doubt this is a “lone wolf” situation.”  
Sam nodded and smiled, “Or it’s a her. But I agree. They were regulars too. They knew the owners; The family was old friends of the Prime Minister.”  
Jon then asked, “And where were they during this occurrence?”  
Sam replied, “They retired years ago, so in their mansion probably. Anyway, there is an employee unaccounted for. The employee sheet included 23 in total, and yet, there was 15 present and the rest were off that day. So yes, we have a culprit.”  
Jon signed, “The staff has to remember the employee, right? I imagine they remember the people they work with and not the strangers who walk in and poison politicians.”  
Sam agreed, “Obviously, but the Hungarian government is keeping them under lock and key. Soon we should get a detailed description of them. We have plenty of potential witnesses.”  
Jon found this entire phenomenon quite ridiculous. “And what will two ten-year-old girls be able to tell us? I doubt they know any details about the employees of an A-list restaurant. Our priority needs to be the people working at the bar at the time of the murder.”  
Sam takes off his hat and rubbed the sweat off his forehead. He definitely didn’t look like an MI5 agent at the moment. “The girls did visit the restaurant quite a lot though. Anything they might be able to give us, no matter how small, could help this investigation. I suggest we write a list of questions to ask. Until then,” Sam stood, “I suggest we get some rest. Did you want me to bring back dinner?”  
Jon shook his head. He felt as if he was going to throw up whatever what was in his stomach.


	2. Jon II

The two girls were sat in the front parlor. The translator sat on a chair across from the girls with two empty seats beside her. There was a gold platter on the table with a teapot, 5 white porcelain cups with rose detailing, and a tower of finger sandwiches, scones with cream and blackberry jam, and pastries. Security, armed with machine guns across their back, led Jon and Sam into the parlor and the translator stood up to shake their hands. The girls remained seated and looked away from them, avoiding eye contact. Jon couldn’t help but feel guilty for bringing distraught, young orphans into a murder investigation.  
Sam sat and smiled at the girls. He showed the translator, a young Hungarian woman named Jazmin, the list of questions.  
Jon says, “We want to thank you the two of you for your time today. We will find justice for your parents and you two could help make that happen.” The translator repeated his words in Hungarian and one of the girls, Hanna, scoffed. They seemed mature for their age, just in the way they carried themselves. They were forced to grow up too quickly. Jon looked down, disappointed.  
Sam took over, “Did you visit the restaurant regularly?”  
Hanna responds in Hungarian and the translator repeats, “Yes, they have wonderful egg noodles. Papa always loved it, he said it felt like an escape.”  
Sam responds back, “Were you familiar with any of the staff? The chefs, the servers, people like that?”  
Hanna ponders, “We did meet the chef on a couple of occasions. He’s nice. We always sat in the private seating room in the back and he would join us sometimes.”  
Jon and Sam look at each other and Sam says, “Do you know why they didn’t seat in the private room at the time of their passing? As you probably know, they were sat on the outside patio.”  
Ana, the other twin, speaks for the first time, “They probably assumed they would be safe. It was a beautiful day so maybe they wanted to enjoy some fresh air. We all rarely got the chance.”  
Sam’s expression was sad, but he spared no more condolences for the girls. “Is there anyone else? Any names of waiters, hosts, or drink-makers that served your father, anything you could give us.” Sam’s use of the word “drink-makers” almost made Jon chuckle.  
Hanna looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember. She nodded and said, “Yes. There were a few staff members Papa particularly liked. They always served us and even catered my Mama’s birthday a few months ago.”  
The girls short and non-descriptive responses were not what Jon and Sam needed and frankly, Jon thought this was pointless.  
“What were their names?” Sam asked.  
Hanna shrugged and Ana chimed in, “The owner’s son usually made Papa’s drinks. He made the best drinks, Papa would say.”  
Jon and Sam looked at each other, and Jon said, “And this was recent?” Ana shook her head no, “The son left to go to university. They got a new drink-maker last month.”  
Jon was impatient and asked, quite strictly, “And have you seen this new bartender? I mean drink-maker?”  
Ana took a sip of tea and stared at the wall, “It was a girl. She was pretty and from Italy, I think. Papa would stare at her and,” Ana swallowed, “Mama would get angry and they would fight.” Hanna held Ana’s hand.  
“What did this girl look like?” Sam asked.  
Ana sniffled and shifted uncomfortably in her seat and said, “She had blonde hair, light eyes, and was tall. Very pretty and friendly. She was thin too. She spoke Hungarian with a foreign accent. Her voice was deep.”  
Sam then asked, “Do you have any other details? Was her head oval or round?”  
Ana snapped, “I don’t know! I didn’t stare, that’s all I can remember.”  
Jon knew it was time to give them some peace. He then said, “We want to thank you for your time. And again, our deepest condolences. I hope you both find some peace and happiness in due time.” Sam and Jon stood and shook the translators’ hand and Sam turned off the voice recorder.

Sam spoke at Jon the second they got into the cab. “We need interviews with the staff. She has to be the one, I just know it.”  
Jon nodded in agreement, “But Mormont ordered me to get on the next flight back to London after the interview was done.” He wasn’t about to risk his job.  
“This girl is deadly. She could strike again and the sooner we find her, the less likely it is that anyone else will die.” Sam said worriedly.  
Jon disagreed, “Her job is finished. I doubt she’s still in the country and we shouldn’t hunt her down with tails tucked between our legs. We have no security, Sam. And anyway, the department will take care of it.”  
Sam rarely got angry. He was one of the most benevolent people Jon knew, but now was different, “Do you think the department cares whether or not she strikes again? All they want is to appease the Hungarian government. We have a lead; I say we follow it.”  
“I’m sorry Sam, but I can’t. If you want to risk your job and stay, then go ahead. But I’m going home. And I need a fucking drink.” Jon said.  
Jon asked the driver to take them to the nearest bar in the area. Sam gave up trying to convince Jon to stay and agreed. He needed a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sansa chapter next xo


	3. Sansa I

She sprays her floral Dior perfume on her wrists and rubs them together. Sansa loves designer brands and Dior and Chanel are her favorites. Sansa glides her Chanel red across her lips and dabs rosy cream blush on her cheeks. She admires herself in the mirror and smooths her red hair with her palm.  
“Beautiful,” Sansa tells herself.  
Sansa leaves her hotel bathroom and dresses in a gold tank and black leather leggings. She slides into her black heels with red bottoms. She never forgets jewelry; A yellow gold Cartier watch and rose gold diamond earrings she took from the house of one of her victim’s wives.  
Sansa grabs her black clutch and leaves her Four Seasons Hotel room.  
“Taxi please,” Sansa tells the receptionist.  
“Right away madame.” She tells her.  
Sansa was only 23. She was barely a “madame.” She didn’t like the receptionist’s face, but her taxi arrived before she could say anything.  
“Make it come quicker next time,” Sansa tells the woman.  
Sansa dips into the taxi and tells the man to take her to the Boutiq Bar. Sansa’s time in Budapest has led her to become familiar with the city, almost too much for her taste. She checks her phone and has a text from “Aunt C.”  
It reads, “Good work. Be back in Paris by tomorrow.”  
Sansa grins and the taxi pulls up to the bar’s entrance. She pays the old man and walks into the bar while men outside smoking whistle at her. How she despised them.  
Sansa makes her way to the bar and orders, “Burgundy red, please.”  
She gets her drink within seconds, which pleases her, and she sips. The bar is crowded; It was Saturday evening and everyone in the stuffy place just wanted to get laid. Sansa hadn’t had sex in weeks and frankly, she felt backed up.  
She looks across the bar. She catches sight of a man drinking ale after ale, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a pot-leaf hat. Sansa thought he looked stupid. The man sat next to him was handsome, so very handsome, with dark hair. Just how she likes them. His hair curled and his lips were full. He was short though, which she didn’t like as much. They seemed to be in a heated discussion.  
Sansa continues to drink her wine and grows bored. She hated being bored. She looks for the handsome man again; They’re walking towards the bar, leaving at least ten empty glasses on their table.  
“I don’t think you need any more, Sam. You don’t want to be hungover on the plane tomorrow.” The handsome man said.  
He was British, which Sansa liked. She hated how harsh her Russian accent was and liked how delicate and sweet he sounded.  
“I don’t give a fuck.” The man apparently called Sam, slurred.  
The handsome man smiled, and she met his eyes. They were grey and the bar lights made them sparkle. She was staring, but she didn’t care. When she wanted something, she tended to get it. However, he looks away, shyly.  
Hard to get, huh, Sansa thinks to herself. She notices he orders another ale and she walks over to them.  
“Three pints of your best.” Sansa tells the bartender. “On me.” The bartender grabs three glasses at once.  
The handsome man looked at her, up and down, and takes a little longer on her breasts. “Can’t help but notice you all are in need of a few more drinks.” Sansa says, imitating the men’s British accents. Sansa never used her real voice while conversing with strangers, no matter how good looking.  
“Really, we’ve had enough. But thank you.” The man said back.  
His friend chimes in, “You’re British? I am too!”  
“Yes, I’m Gemma.” Sansa smiles.  
“I’m Sam. This is Jon. We’re on business.” Sam says, obviously off his face, and points to the handsome man. “What is an English rose like you doing in Hungary?”  
“I saved up to come here. I love the art, the architecture, everything about it. I leave tomorrow too.” Sansa says, lying. She hated Budapest. She also notices that she revealed she had been eavesdropping their conversation and hopes they are too drunk to notice.  
“Are you alone?” Sam asks, looking worried.  
“Yes, it’s just me. What kind of business trip?” Sansa replies.  
“That doesn’t seem safe, for a young woman like yourself walking around in a big city alone at night. We can take you back, right Jon?” Sam nudges Jon with his elbow.  
Jon drinks his ale and looks at her, “Sure, I suppose, if that’s all right with you.”  
Sansa takes a drink and looks lustfully in his eyes. He wasn’t giving in.  
“Well, you seem lovely Gemma. I would keep chatting, but I have to fucking wee.” Sam laughs. “Jon, you keep her company.”  
Sam heads to the toilet and she and Jon make eye contact. “So where are you from? In Britain, I mean.” Jon asks her.  
“Oxford. And you?” Sansa says.  
Jon replies, “London. Born and raised. I went to Uni in Oxford, though. Beautiful place.”  
Sansa nods, “It is. So, what sort of business brings you to Budapest?” She creeps closer to him and invites him to sit on a barstool next to her.  
Jon sits and says, “Confidential information, I’m sorry to say.”  
“Oh, how intriguing. Is it illegal?” Sansa grins.  
Jon laughs, “As I said, it’s confidential.”  
“Don’t be boring,” Sansa says, jokingly. “What is it? Drugs, weapons?”  
“I don’t like drugs. I did pot at Uni and I don’t think it was for me. And I don’t like guns, so.” Jon says, sipping his drink. “This ale is amazing, by the way.”  
Sansa stares into his eyes, “So what is it, then? Are you an assassin?”  
Jon almost spits out his ale, “What?”  
Sansa loved playing with him, “The Hungarian Prime Minister was murdered last week. It’s all the media can talk about. Everywhere I look it’s on a television screen, a tabloid, or plastered on a fucking newspaper.”  
Jon smiles, “You know, I didn’t really think assassins were a thing until recently. I thought they were something made up for movies or video games.”  
Sansa interjects, “And are they real?”  
Jon shrugs. Sansa then says, “So if it’s not drugs, weapons, or murder, what can’t you say you do? You’re on a trip to a city that recently had a murder of a politician. You work for M16, don’t you?”  
“I love your hair,” Jon says, slurring his words, changing the subject.  
“Oh, thanks. Do you have a thing for redheads?” Sansa asks.  
“I do, but I think I’d love to see you in blonde hair.” Jon grins, arrogantly.  
“Oh? Do you like blondes?” Sansa asks.  
“Not particularly,” Jon says.  
Sansa then asks, “So, who do you think killed him?”  
Jon scoffs, “I cannot disclose anything. What do you think?”  
Sansa ponders and answers, “I think you’re dealing with someone trained. Someone talented, someone who was able to get employed at a Michelin Star restaurant and poison a man and his wife without anybody noticing. Someone smart and somebody nobody suspects. Somebody who can kill anyone and not feel an ounce of grief. Somebody who can lie really easily.” She was toying with him and she loved every second of it.  
Sam arrives back at the bar, “Sorry that took so long.”  
Sansa then says, “Was the line long?” She looks at Jon.  
Sam looks confused, “The queue, yes.”  
Sansa says to them both, “Well it was lovely meeting you both. I’m going to take a taxi back, but you two have a lovely night.”  
Jon interjects, “No! We can take you home. As Sam said, it’s not safe. You have no idea what kind of people are out there.” The tension between them was thick and Sansa feels her chest flutter.  
Sam laughs and finishes his drink, “Jon, if she wanted you to take her home she would have said. She seems fine. She can take care of herself.”  
Jon looks at Sam, “It’s not like that.”  
Sam laughs again, “And when is it not like that? She’s your type.”  
“Because I’m gay. Always have been.” Jon says to Sam, quite calmly.  
Sam chokes on his drink, “Since when?! Your wife, you were married!” Sam is clearly too drunk to understand the situation.  
Jon looks to Sansa, “It’s because I can lie really easily.”  
Sansa smiles at him, “You gentlemen have a good night.” She leaves cash on the bar and leaves.


	4. Jon III

“Is it the alcohol that’s confusing you?!” Sam screams at Jon.  
“It was a…metaphor.” Jon finishes his ale until bubbles fill the bottom of the pint.  
“A fucking what?!” Sam’s face was puzzled.  
“We need to follow her. Put a couple of quid on the bar.” Jon pulls his coat back on and heads for the door of the bar.  
Sam follows in pursuit, stumbling behind him. The night air was cold and hit Jon like a shard blade through his body. On the left side was a cobblestone road of restaurants, clubs, and drunk people shouting in Hungarian. On the right was a row of cabs and Jon pulled a drunken Sam to follow him.  
Jon spotted her red hair gleams with the city lights.  
“Why are we following her?! What are you doing?” Sam yelled.  
Jon replied, “It’s her. I know it is.”  
Gemma, though probably an alias, peeks behind her shoulder, smiles at him, and kept walking.  
Jon sees her pull something out of her bag and suspects the worse, but he sees the spark of a lighter and a puff of smoke go into the sky.  
Arrogant, Jon thought. She wants me to follow her. Jon and Sam keep walking, rather unsubtly, behind her. She turns right into a dark alley and when Jon takes sight of her, she was standing with a pistol in hand.  
“If you wanted to fuck me, you could have just asked. Not with your friend here, though.” The girl said.  
Sam grabbed his arm, “Let’s go, it’s not her. This isn’t right.”  
Jon stands in the alley, with no weapon, looking like a fool, “Did you kill him?”  
“You don’t know me. But would you like to?” She says back.  
“Who do you work for?” He says back.  
“And why would I tell you?” She asks.  
Jon looks up and around for any cameras and is disappointed to find nothing.  
“Are you looking for cameras? Do you really think I’m that stupid?” She grins at him and speaks again, “Let’s play a game. Either you give me the names of the people you work for or I kill your stupid friend.”  
She points her gun at Sam, whose centimeters away from Jon.  
“Stop! I’ll tell you, just take us to where you’re staying.” He said.  
She responds, “I’ll take you, not your friend. I want you to myself.”  
“Jon, it’s a trap, don’t be stupid,” Sam says, his voice shaking.  
Jon turns to Sam and whispers, “Run, Sam. Go straight to the airport.”  
“Did you just tell him to run? That breaks the rules.” The girl says.  
“I said we would tell you.” Jon begs.  
“I changed my mind. I only want you. And if he runs, I’ll just shoot him in the back.” She says.  
She paces and asks, “What would you have me do? Two MI6 agents follow me into the night, and you suspect me not to retaliate? No,” She nods her head, “That would not make me look good. I’m sorry.”  
She pulls her trigger and his scream echoes into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short, sorryyy.


	5. Sansa II

Sansa hadn’t been in her flat for so long that there was a thin layer of dust over her furniture. She tossed her keys into a silver bowl by the door and stripped off her gold tank; The glitter was uncomfortably scratching her skin. Her bulletproof bra had squished her breasts so tight; She could barely breathe. Once she was stripped, Sansa opened the windows and took a deep breath. Sansa loved how Paris smelled: spring flowers, fresh pastry dough, petroleum, cigarette smoke, and a faint odor of fresh paint. It smelled of the city, of living, of happiness. She pulled a silk robe on to go to the kitchen. Hungarian food had disgusted her and made her feel bloated, so she made a mango, strawberry smoothie and granola with a café noir.   
Sansa took a long drag of her cigarette and drank her coffee. She was lonely; She just wanted someone with her, have someone read to her as she drifted to sleep, someone to watch old movies with. She barely had any friends; Cersei was the only regular guest. Lost in thought, she only heard the third knock on the door and Cersei came walking in. She was beautiful if Sansa was feeling honest. She always wore black and her lips were a dark pink and her eyes resembled emeralds. Sansa thought she was a cunt at first, but she’s warmed up to her with time.  
“Lost in thought?” Cersei says.  
“No, hello. Welcome in.” Sansa remarks.  
Cersei replies, “I don’t need your sarcasm. How was Budapest?”  
Sansa signs, “Good. Quick. I assume you’ve heard about the collateral damage.”  
Cersei stares disapprovingly, “You were ordered to do the job and return to Paris.”  
“I did! They were following me, one of the men suspected it was me.” Sansa says.  
“And why would he think that? What possible reason did you give him to believe that?” She was angry, but she rarely showed her true emotions.  
“Nothing! I bought them drinks. He was either a mind reader or insane. They want to find anyone to pin the blame on.” Sansa sipped her coffee, unbothered.  
“And yet, you only killed one of them. You left the other alive, you do realize that’s a witness?” Cersei replies.  
“He was fit.” Sansa shrugs.  
Cersei grins, “You’re ridiculous. And what if they find you?”  
“They won’t.”  
“They might.”  
“They won’t. I’ll go to the end of the world if I have to.” Sansa stands up and puts her dishes in the sink and scrubs them with a sponge.  
“Are you here to complain or do you have something for me?”  
Cersei pulls out a postcard with the red Tokyo Tower plastered on the front. Sansa feels elated as soon as she sees it.  
“Your next job. Tokyo is beautiful this time of year. Maybe you’ll see some cherry blossoms.” Cersei says.  
“When?” Sansa asks.  
“Day after tomorrow. Get yourself settled in. All the information is in its usual place.” Cersei heads for the door. “Maybe I’ll treat you to lunch when you get back.”  
Sansa smiles, “A date? How could I refuse?”  
Cersei rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her. Sansa retrieves her laptop from her desk and lays across her couch. The postcard read, “Thinking of you.” and Sansa types the shipping number on her keyboard.   
Her screen displays the target: Aimi Toru. She is said to be an heiress to her family’s opulent property. The property is a drug cartel, the largest cocaine manufacture known to man. Since the death of her father and her brother’s slow decline into alcoholism, she is the heir to their empire. Her face was soft, her eyes dark, and a small nose with plump, pink lips. She was beautiful and it almost saddened Sansa that such a beauty would go to waste.


End file.
